SOLAK Chapter 7

As a mercenary, He Huan was naturally more sensitive to her surroundings than most.

From the moment she first arrived in this world, she had noticed that even inside that shabby little grass hut, a bonfire had already been burning.

Later, when she rebuilt into a Level 1 Wooden House, there was still a firepit ready-made inside.

Because of this, she had never realized that bonfires actually required fuel. Only now—after being reminded—did she notice the once-vigorous flames flickering weakly, on the verge of going out.

Digging through her memory, she quickly recalled the rules.

This world was called the Dark Night World. Here, if a shelter was a resident’s most vital protection, then a bonfire was the resource that ensured survival.

In the darkness, as long as the fire inside the shelter never went out, no danger would breach its walls.

At this stage, the only available fuel was firewood. One piece of wood could be split into four logs. Each log burned for thirty minutes. Which meant: a single piece of wood lasted two hours.

To keep the fire burning for a whole day required at least twelve pieces of wood—a considerable cost.

After all, three to five pieces of wood could be traded for 300ml of drinking water.

Technically, players could let their fires die out during the day. But relighting it was another matter entirely. Matches and lighters were rare tools, and not everyone had them.

So, in practice, nearly every resident chose to keep their bonfire burning twenty-four hours a day.

He Huan pulled out thirty or forty pieces of wood and raised her iron axe. Bang, bang, bang! Splinters flew as she chopped. She had never split logs before—but in her mind, it couldn’t be much different from chopping down enemies. Passion burned in her strokes.

As she worked, her wristband suddenly vibrated violently, impossible to ignore.

She paused, tossed the chopped firewood into the flames, then picked up a slice of roasted leopard meat. Chewing leisurely, she opened the wristband to see what had triggered such a commotion.

The moment the interface lit up, the display auto-switched to regional chat.

At the very top, a golden-highlighted message pulsed brightly—so blinding that even a blind man might’ve been cured on the spot.

“The first event of the Taishan Mutual Aid Society has ended in complete success. All are welcome to join us!”

Beneath the pinned announcement, the chat, once full of idle banter, suddenly erupted into unison.

“Congratulations! Cheers for Brother Shan! Cheers for the Taishan Mutual Aid Society!”

“Brother Shan, you’re the pride of our region!”

“Taishan, Taishan—our hope! Taishan, Taishan—the light of the world!”

…

The corners of He Huan’s lips twitched uncontrollably.

This is… paid hype, right? Definitely hired spammers.

Otherwise, who else could organize such a show?

Only after an endless flood of rainbow farts did the chat return to something like normal. Still, the lingering chatter made it clear: this “Taishan Mutual Aid Society” had real influence.

Most subsequent messages revolved around it:

“Brother Shan, where did you guys go for this event?”

“What kind of activity was it?”

“How successful are we talking?”

“Is the Mutual Aid Society recruiting? I’m already Level 2, do I qualify?”

“Brother Shan, I haven’t eaten in two days… can you spare some food? My dad will definitely repay you when I get home!”

…

Scrolling quickly, He Huan began forming her analysis.

This Mutual Aid Society was likely the largest, or at least most authoritative, faction in their region. Based on the chatter, it must’ve been founded on Day 1 or 2, right after residents arrived. Otherwise, the members wouldn’t be this familiar with one another.

Despite its short history, the organization clearly had some real capability.

First—the pinned golden message. That had to be a special consumable item. Obtaining one required not only power but also luck.

Second—the synchronized “rainbow farts.” There was no way ordinary residents coordinated that. Clearly, those were members of the Society boosting their own leader’s message. The sheer scale and polish suggested strong organizational control.

Lastly—the fact they were advertising in regional chat at all meant their numbers weren’t large enough yet. If they were already powerful, they wouldn’t need to recruit so openly.

In short: it was an advertisement.

Then, amid the noise, a player named Zhou Yuanshan began posting.

“This morning, forty-one members of our Taishan Mutual Aid Society gathered and together explored within 300 meters of Mist Zone No. 3. We harvested a considerable amount of supplies—and most importantly, we discovered a vital item.”

[Angel Fountain (Fragment) – Rare (Blue). A damaged fountain that produces 100ml of Withered Angel Spring Water daily. Each 1ml grants +20% defense and +20% health for 4 hours to a single resident.]

“As long as you join our Society, you’ll have a chance to receive 1ml of Withered Angel Spring Water every morning—to aid your adventures!”

…

He Huan’s casual smirk gradually faded. Her eyes narrowed.

Four hours of boosted defense and health… tch. That’s enough to make anyone drool.

And it regenerated every day. Truly inexhaustible. Zhou Yuanshan hadn’t lied—this was a powerful artifact, the kind that could tip survival odds in your favor.

Unsurprisingly, the chat exploded.

Residents begged to join. Some pleaded for food. Others groveled to be recruited, offering every excuse they could.

The advertisement had worked perfectly.

Even He Huan felt tempted. But not enough to throw herself into Taishan’s camp just yet. What really intrigued her was the fountain’s origin.

Was it found inside Mist Zone No. 3?

Meanwhile, Zhou Yuanshan wasn’t done. He continued as though determined to burn through all ten of his daily messages in one go.

“Our Society exists to unite survivors, to help one another endure this cruel world. Anyone who meets our entry requirements is welcome to join.”

“For those who don’t meet the requirements—don’t be discouraged. It’s not rejection, but protection. We intend to explore deeper, more dangerous regions. Places that would only bring you harm for now.”

“But in the future, when you’re stronger, our doors will always be open.”

“And now, today’s hint: Bronze chests have an 80% chance to drop green items, and a 20% chance to drop blue items. If you find one, don’t miss the opportunity.”

With that, Zhou Yuanshan fell silent. Either he wanted to leave on a dramatic note—or he had simply run out of message slots.

He Huan had to admit, the man knew how to handle people. With a few carefully chosen posts, he had recruited new blood, soothed the rejected, dangled hooks for the curious, and even tossed out a useful tip to build credibility.

One move, many gains.

But by then, her focus had drifted.

Because her leopard meat was finally done. She bit in—juices bursting, tender flesh seared to smoky perfection. The rich protein soothed her nerves, easing the pain of losing her “retirement fund” and being dumped into this cruel world.

Still, without seasoning, the meat lacked depth. Tasty, yes, but somehow incomplete.

Then again… beggars couldn’t be choosers.

As she ate, she kept one eye on the trading platform.

She noticed that food wasn’t scarce, but the only staple for sale was plain white bread, at a fixed price equal to clean water.

Whenever other foods appeared—wild fruit, mushrooms, meat—they vanished instantly, snapped up with special trades.

From a few rounds of observation, He Huan had already figured out who the buyers were.

They weren’t desperate paupers, but mid-tier residents—those who had gotten lucky with loot or treasure chests, sitting on modest wealth. Some may even have upgraded their shelters to Level 2 already.

There weren’t many of them, but they had purchasing power. And that was what mattered.

Target customers, identified.

Finishing one slab of leopard meat, she stashed the other four roasted pieces for tomorrow.

Then she began dividing the seven raw chunks left. Each was cut into tidy 100g portions. She listed two on the market.

“Fresh leopard meat, 100g ×2. Will trade for recipes.”

On the trading platform, recipes were valuable barter items.

From browsing, He Huan had learned they came in tiers. At the top were potion recipes—rare beyond measure. She had only seen buy requests, never sales. Clearly, priceless.

Second were equipment recipes—for armor, headgear, weapons. Not too expensive, but common repeats made collecting a full set difficult.

Lowest were cooking recipes, all requiring numerous ingredients. At this early stage, when most residents still struggled to fill their stomachs, such recipes were nearly useless.

Her goal: equipment recipes.

If only someone had one to spare.

When she had first considered trading meat, she’d assumed it would move quickly. But she had underestimated just how much residents craved meat.

Her leopard meat had barely gone live when her private messages began to blow up—